The Sweetness of Swiss Rolls
by Scrawlers
Summary: After the brutal events of the second KG-8 Incident, Miles and Franziska decide to calm down before heading home the best way they know how: indulging in Swiss rolls, snark, and a bit of bonding for good measure. Spoilers for AAI case four. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **To avoid any lawsuits, I must confess that I do _not _own anything related to the Ace Attorney video game franchise or any related material. I _especially _lay no claim to one Franziska von Karma, as she owns herself completely and utterly. Thank you.

**Authors' Note: **I couldn't _resist _writing this after playing "Turnabout Reminiscence" -- in fact, I had the idea ever since inspecting the vending machine and reading all of Miles and Franziska's dialogue, but wanted to at least finish the case to see if Capcom would end up writing it out themselves. Since they didn't, I figured I'd fill it in. It's just -- the opportunity for sibling fluff was _right there_, I couldn't not do it.

That being said, **SPOILERS **for Ace Attorney Investigations Case Four! **MAJOR SPOILERS**, you have been warned.

If you read, please review!

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**The Sweetness of Swiss Rolls**

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As he walked out of the courtroom, Franziska trailing behind him, Miles realized that he was shaking.

He wasn't shaking _too _badly, but he could feel his knees trembling and his heart beating a little faster in his chest. Most of the adrenaline had worn off by that point, so the fatigue was setting in, and that -- combined with the fact that he was shaking and didn't seem to be able to stop -- made him feel weak on his feet. Of course, showing weakness was _not _in the Von Karma way, and he would _never _dare -- but that didn't mean that he didn't feel it. Looking discreetly over his shoulder, Miles saw that Franziska was staring at the floor, and she was _visibly _trembling, her blue eyes distant. There was no way either of them could face Manfred in the states they were currently in. Not only would he be able to tell, but he would eat them alive.

Miles respected his mentor above all else, and knew the man could do no wrong, but sometimes he had to admit deep down that a little more respect would have been nice. Some concern. After all, most fathers wouldn't tell their children that they'd _consider _seeing their courtroom debut. Most fathers would be _worried _if guns were fired near their children. Miles knew that _his _father--

_Stop. Don't think about it. _Miles shook his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Enough had happened that he didn't need to reminisce about the past. Manfred von Karma was a fine mentor, a fine teacher, and if he was a little strict at times, so be it. The courtroom demanded nothing but perfection, and perfection demanded nothing but utter seriousness at all times.

All the same . . . They couldn't go back to Manfred now, shaken as they were. He would never let them live it down.

"Miles?" Miles had stopped walking and Franziska noticed, turning to face him with a frown. Miles could see in the weariness of her eyes and the delayed knit of her brow that she was trying to force the sternness that her father always displayed. "What are you doing? We need to report to Papa."

"I know," Miles answered, and despite her fatigue, Miles saw a flash of indignation flare through Franziska's eyes. "But I was thinking . . ."

"That could be dangerous," Franziska remarked, smirking, and Miles rolled his eyes, tempted to feed her to Manfred anyway. Perhaps a good scolding would take the edge of that snark. But even as the thought crossed his mind, Miles dispelled it. He couldn't do it, even if Franziska _was _a wild brat at times.

"After everything that happened today, I'm a bit hungry. We never did manage to get lunch," Miles continued, and Franziska blinked, her snarky smirk slipping from her face. "That Swiss roll that we gave Gumshoe did look rather tempting, too."

"Hmph." Franziska folded her arms, her riding crop tapping an unsteady rhythm against her thigh. "You wish to go after a foolish thing like a Swiss roll when we're supposed to report to Papa? What a foolishly foolish thought, Miles Edgeworth."

"Technically, Mr. von Karma doesn't know when we're supposed to be back, and odds are he's working, anyway," Miles pointed out. "If we went to the vending machine to grab a Swiss roll now, I'm positive that we could eat it and make it back home before he even noticed we were late." Franziska had looked over at the doors, and she looked back to Miles with a suspicious glance.

"Do you have six dollars, Miles Edgeworth?"

"No, but I have three," he answered, and pulled the bills out of his briefcase to show her. Franziska's eyes lingered on the bills briefly before she looked back up to meet his gaze. Suggesting that they pool their money earlier hadn't worked, and Miles had no reason to believe it would now. He switched tactics. "Do you have three dollars that you could lend me?"

"You want to borrow money from me?" Franziska's eyes widened, and Miles nodded. She scoffed. "You do realize that would place you in my debt, do you not?"

"Yes, I do."

"Hmph." Franziska eyed him speculatively for a moment before smirking, extending her riding crop out to point at him. "Very well. I will lend you three dollars on the condition that you not only pay me back, but give me one of the Swiss rolls out of the pack that you purchase!"

Miles had already been planning on that, of course, but he wasn't about to let her know that. "That sounds like an acceptable deal."

"I also reserve the right to call upon this debt as a favor in the future in which I do not have to pay you back," Franziska pressed, moving to walk past him and head toward the vending machine. Miles frowned, following after. _Now she's pushing it_. "And--"

"I believe that your conditions more than cover the cost of your lending me three dollars," Miles interrupted, and quick as a cat, Franziska turned and whipped her riding crop against his arm. "Wh - What was that for?!"

"Do not talk back to someone who is doing you a favor, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska snapped, turning to continue walking back down the corridor, head held high. Perhaps it was the promise of a sugary treat (or the promise of having Miles be in her debt), but Franziska already seemed to be doing better, her stride more determined instead of distracted and dazed.

When they arrived at the vending machine, Franziska pulled out her money and handed it to Miles, thereafter turning to walk over the bench. Miles put the money into the machine, hitting the appropriate button, and couldn't help but smile when he heard Franziska make an agitated sound from over by the bench.

"This handprint is still here! The next time I see Scruffy, I'll make him pay double for leaving this mess! And who is in charge of cleaning the courthouse, anyway? How dare they leave this handprint here!" Miles retrieved the Swiss roll pack as it was released, tearing it open as he walked over to where Franziska stood by the bench. "This is a disgrace! When I find out who has been neglecting cleaning duty, I will make sure they feel the sting of my whip as they wipe up every speck!"

"If it bothers you that much," Miles said before he could help himself, "you could always clean it yourself." Franziska's eyes flashed, and she raised her whip, but Miles held out the Swiss roll as a peace offering. "Careful, you wouldn't want to hit this."

Franziska looked down at the Swiss roll, and then took it with a huff, sitting down on the clean side of the bench. "If the handprint doesn't bother you, then you can sit on it," she said, setting her riding crop down beside her to tear open her treat. "I hope it stains your pants, Miles Edgeworth."

Miles chuckled and wagged his fingers in Franziska's direction. "It's the Von Karma way to always be prepared, isn't it?" he asked, pulling the handkerchief he'd previously offered to Kay out of his pocket. Folding it neatly into a rectangle, he set it on the handprint, preventing any of Gumshoe's mess from soiling his pants. Franziska, her smugness spoiled by Miles' preparation, turned her attention to her Swiss roll instead, taking a vicious bite out of it as Miles opened his own.

Miles didn't get to partake in sweets very often. In the Von Karma household, a proper diet was a must, with all junk foods and other such fattening items cut from the menu. They weren't allowed sugary foods, caffeine (other than what was naturally in tea), an excess of carbohydrates, or anything that could possibly put them out of shape or form. Ordinarily it wasn't a problem, because it wasn't as if Miles had a very large sweet tooth, but he couldn't deny that the Swiss roll tasted fantastic -- especially after what had happened in the courtroom. A victory tainted by the bitter taste of the criminal escaping . . . Yes, the Swiss roll really was the perfect remedy for that.

"Miles Edgeworth!"

"What?" Miles looked over to Franziska to find her staring impatiently at him, only appearing satisfied when she found that she had his full attention. Franziska put her hands in her lap, her gaze ferocious, and said,

"I _asked _you a question, Miles Edgeworth, and I demand you answer it."

"I'm afraid I'm going to need you to repeat the question." Miles tore a piece off his Swiss roll and stuck it in his mouth, ignoring the way Franziska's nostrils flared at the idea of having to repeat herself.

"If you were anyone else, you'd have a face full of whip right now," Franziska said, and Miles was suddenly glad for the dessert in his mouth, for he wasn't sure if he would have been able to refrain from a sarcastic remark (_"what, you mean you weren't lashing me all day?") _otherwise. "I asked you what you meant by what you said to Kay."

"I said quite a few things to Kay," Miles said when he swallowed. "Clarify what you are talking about, please."

"I am talking about what you began to say to her before going off into your own little universe -- when she began to cry over her father's death." The Swiss roll suddenly felt very heavy in Miles' hands, but he kept his hold on it regardless. "You know," Franziska went on, "I never was told _why _you lived with us, Miles Edgeworth. You've lived with us ever since I can remember -- since I was a small child -- but I never was told why."

". . . My father died," Miles responded slowly, staring at the Swiss roll in his hands. "My mother had already passed away when I was an infant, and I had no other relatives. Favors were called in, and Mr. von Karma took me in."

"I see." Franziska was quiet for a moment, and for one brief, shining second, Miles thought that was going to be the end of the conversation. He nearly groaned when she proved him wrong. "You aren't very forthcoming with details, are you, Miles?"

"What more do you wish to know, Franziska?" Miles still didn't look at her, instead choosing to look at the vending machine, as if he could make it explode if he stared at it long enough. He almost wished he could. It would be awful for the courthouse, and the thought of defacing the sacred building was a horrible one, but at least it would provide sufficient distraction to get Franziska off his case.

"Everything," Franziska answered promptly. "There are still too many facts that don't add up. Who called in favors for you to live with Papa? Why did Papa even agree to adopt you in the first place? What was _your _Papa like, and where did you come from before you moved to Germany?" Franziska paused before prompting him for an answer. "Well?"

"My father was a defense attorney," Miles ground out, his voice feeling choked in his throat. "And when I was nine years old . . . he was murdered here in this very courthouse, in the elevator." Miles heard Franziska inhale sharply beside him, but continued regardless. "I was placed into the state's care temporarily while they found a home for me, but Mr. von Karma came fairly quickly to adopt me. A friend of his had explained my situation, and under the stipulation that I would learn to serve as a prosecutor -- something I assure you I had no qualms about, given what happened to my father -- I was to go live with him in Germany. You were two-years-old, I believe, so it's no surprise you don't remember."

"It's . . . ironic," Franziska noted, and Miles looked quickly over at her to see that she was pondering the little piece that remained of her Swiss roll. "Your father was a defense attorney, yet you grew up to be a prosecutor. Simply ironic."

Miles took in a deep breath, and released it slowly. "My father . . . was trusting," he answered, picking a piece of frosting off his Swiss roll. "Too trusting. He believed in every one of his clients, believed that every person was good despite what evidence might prove to the contrary. He didn't always win . . . and in fact, the day he was murdered, he had lost a case. But even when he didn't win, he never seemed to let it get him down. That night we were even going to go out for dinner, despite the fact that since he lost, he really should have felt down . . ." Miles smiled ruefully, and shook his head. "Of course," he continued, "that plan never worked out. We never made it out of that elevator. Or . . . he didn't, rather."

"Miles . . ." Franziska hesitated, something that was rare for her, but when she spoke again her words were sure and haughty. "Your father was a fool."

"What?" Normally, Miles ignored Franziska's love of the word "fool;" she used the word so much that it almost lost meaning. But the subject of his father was as touchy as a permanent bruise, and it wasn't one that he could tolerate being stung by Franziska's whip-like tongue. "Franziska--"

"He was a fool," Franziska continued, cutting Miles off, "but I don't think that was a bad thing, in this particular case." Miles shut his mouth, watching Franziska as she looked speculatively up to the ceiling. "True, in order to be a perfect attorney, you must have perfect dedication. Papa is absolutely right in everything he says and does regarding that. But . . . I must admit, there are times when I wonder what it would be like to _not _grow up in a perfect household . . . To _not _have a perfectly strict Papa, to not grow up in a perfectly perfect way, and instead be raised by a foolish fool who had foolish tendencies to act particularly foolish, such as celebrating after losing a case."

". . . Heh." Miles looked down at what remained of his Swiss roll, tearing off another piece. "I suppose, if you think about it in that sense, he _was _foolish. In the good way, of course."

"Naturally." Miles didn't know if Franziska was agreeing because she actually agreed, or because she -- for once -- realized that it was the right thing to do, but he had a distinct feeling it was because she did agree. He'd never heard her speak out against the Von Karma household before, and he had a feeling that he wouldn't get another opportunity for a long time -- and that if he repeated any of what she'd said, he'd receive one hundred lashings for his efforts. "I must say, though, that the foolishness of your father does explain quite a few things about you, Miles Edgeworth."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you went to such great lengths to prove Scruffy's innocence. It was almost as if you were a defense attorney instead of a prosecutor." There was no missing the scorn in Franziska's tone when she spoke of defense attorneys, and Miles returned it with an eyeroll of his own.

"I was merely looking for the truth of the matter. Believe me, when they capture Calisto Yew, I will be a perfect prosecutor."

"_If _you are the one chosen to lead the case," Franziska returned, wagging her finger at him with a coy smirk. "I may usurp that position from you." Miles smirked in response, raising one eyebrow.

"We'll see about that, Franziska."

"Yes, we will. Now, we should be going home." Franziska had already finished her Swiss roll, and Miles popped the last piece of his into his mouth, swallowing it quickly and balling the wrapper in his fist. Franziska gave him a suspicious look, her eyes darkening. "You had better be planning to put that in a rubbish bin."

"Of course I am." Miles reached out, taking Franziska's wrapper from her, and stood up. "Unlike Detective Gumshoe, I have a desire to keep my head planted firmly on my shoulders."

"Good." Franziska remained on the bench as Miles dropped the wrappers into the bin, and didn't stand even when he returned, instead looking at him with an expression devoid of emotion. Miles opened his mouth to ask her if she truly wanted to leave or not, but she interrupted him with a simple statement: "Carry me."

"Come again?" Franziska raised an eyebrow, arms folded across her chest.

"I don't believe my words were difficult to understand, Miles Edgeworth. I'm tired, and I wish for you to carry me on your back. Now."

"Franziska, aren't you a little old for piggyba--ack!" Miles jumped back to avoid being struck by Franziska's riding crop, and she gripped it tightly in both hands afterward, eyes flashing.

"Miles Edgeworth, I demand a ride this instant!"

Miles continued arguing further, or even just leaving, but not only was he tired, but part of him was feeling somewhat . . . generous toward Franziska, if only a little. So with a sigh, he walked back over to her and crouched down, offering his back. As she looped her legs through his arms and put her own arms around his neck, he warned her, "If you hit me with that whip while I'm carrying you, I _will _drop you. Be warned, Franziska."

"Drop me and face the consequences, Miles," Franziska countered, but instead of whipping him, she put her head on his shoulder. "Now, walk."

Miles sighed again, but he couldn't help but smile a little, ducking his head a little so that she wouldn't be able to see. "As you wish, Franziska."


End file.
